


the history books are made for us

by d10smessi



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of other skaters, Victor is in Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 11:23:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8798968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d10smessi/pseuds/d10smessi
Summary: Victor thinks, I'll never love someone this way again. or: Victor Nikiforov, on loving Katsuki Yuuri.





	

**Author's Note:**

> 6k words of victor being hopelessly in love with yuuri. wow.

Victor is almost 27 when the hollowness in chest increases in size. There is a dull ache, constant and something he’s grown accustomed to. When Victor steps and skates and dances on ice, the emptiness does not go away.

 

There is a time when, after skating, Victor would feel happy about finishing the program he’s worked hard on. He’d be nervous and fearful—sitting down beside a nagging Yakov waiting for his score. These days, everyone just talks about who would win the silver and the bronze because Victor Nikiforov is in the competition. Reporters flock to him and ask by what margin he’s breaking his world record. The jokes used to be flattering, hearing them the first few events. 

 

(They just annoy Victor, now.)

 

After a win, Victor’s chest used to feel warm and full. Today, he wins his fifth consecutive Grand Prix Final gold and outperforms everyone. No one bats an eyelash at this—not the reporters, not the judging committee, not Russia, and not even his competitors. The moment he skates out with the other medalists (Chris and the newbie Canadian), he lifts the medal and plasters on his media-approved charming smile. 

 

He thinks about how cold the medal is and wonders how long it has been since he last felt warm.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He’s trying to sleep when Yakov barges inside his hotel room demanding he puts on a nice suit and mingle.

 

“You’re the champion, Vitya! This is your fifth consecutive medal. We have to be polite.” Yakov scolds, as if Victor being a champion is something noteworthy. 

 

He thinks of history books, imagines the point when the author just stops telling his story because it’s nothing new. He wins the highest accolade, goes home to Russia, practices his jumps. Victor thinks of his life, almost 27 and still empty, and pities the poor person who has to write about Victor Nikiforov—figure skating legend, the Victor Nikiforov he’s selling.

 

(He ponders if someone would even bother.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

Yura’s ranting about something and Victor is, as expected, bored out of his mind when, Yuuri Katsuki, the skater who finished last, steps in with his coach looking like his dog just died. His glasses are not resting properly on the bridge of his nose. His hair is a mess and his suit looks big on him.

 

Victor thinks Yuuri Katsuki looks more than lonely. He does not look the same way other skaters do after losing. Victor feels curious about the young Japanese, remembers watching his step sequences during the Grand Prix Series and asking himself where _that_ skater is during the GPF.

 

Victor tracks Katsuki’s movement during the banquet, finds him downing flute after flute of champagne without taking a break to have a proper meal. Victor wants to tell him to stop but he does not know Katsuki at all to do anything about it. 

 

Before long, Yuuri Katsuki is demanding every single person he sees for a dance-off. Yura—extremely competitive Yura—bites and loosens his formal wear. Victor watches in fascination as Katsuki demolishes his younger rink mate in breakdancing. He finds himself clapping, taking out his phone in the middle of a conversation with a former Olympic medalist and some sponsors to take a picture of Katsuki dropping it low. 

 

He sidesteps from his companions, hooting and cheering for the absolute riot happening in the middle of a very formal banquet. Yura drops dead not ten seconds after, and, to the complete surprise of Victor, Katsuki starts going after him. Katsuki and he dances to some Latin American arrangement Victor is not familiar with. 

 

Katsuki pretends to be a bull so Victor pulls his designer suit jacket and starts shaking it like he’s a torero. The jacket alone costs several thousands of euros—Victor does not care. Katsuki dips him almost parallel to the ground and he finds himself laughing when the younger male caresses his cheek tenderly, almost lovingly. This is the most fun Victor has had in years.

 

They dance and dance until Chris pulls out a mobile pole dancing kit that someone assembles and Victor is fascinated by the train wreck happening in front of him. Chris and Katsuki start stripping to their underwears, doing something that kids like Yura are not allowed to see. 

 

Katsuki pulls a bottle of champagne somewhere and Chris makes noises when he starts drenching both of them with alcohol. No one is sure about what’s happening anymore. No one is trying to stop it either. Not when the skaters themselves are the one causing the ruckus. Not when _Victor Nikiforov himself_ has pulled out some rubles and has started showering Katsuki with them. Victor crows and slips a large amount between the bands of Katsuki’s boxer briefs.

 

Katsuki winks and arches his back, Victor is drawn to the curve of his spine and the length of his legs. Chris looks knowing, his laughter loud and obnoxious. The show ends when Katsuki stumbles and bumps into Chris. They both wobble, breaking into giggles before going down.

 

Victor, 27 and with a Russian liver, is entirely too sober for this—though, by the rate things are progressing, he’s not entirely disappointed. Someone manages to shove Katsuki into his white button down and, oh, he’s heading towards Victor.

 

The younger man is blubbering something in Japanese. Victor has no idea what it is except that it sounds demanding and slightly whiny. Katsuki’s face is red and he reeks of alcohol. His glasses are askew and Victor almost has a heart attack when he starts humping and grinding on Victor’s front. Yura looks scandalized. Chris, the absolute traitor, looks amused.

 

Victor, in the middle of some internal screaming, wonders if it’s an extra service from the bills he gave.

 

“Be my coach, Victor!” Yuuri Katsuki launches his entire body and wraps his arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

 

_Oh._

 

Victor gasps. Yuuri Katsuki is warm.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Victor, together with the ever-patient Makkachin, learns about Yuuri Katsuki during the months after the banquet. He learns of Yuuri’s (he’s calling him Yuuri now) family in Hasetsu, Fukuoka and their hotspring resort; learns of Yuuri’s former prima ballerina dance instructor; learns of Yuuri’s ambition and drive and his status as Japan’s top skater.

 

Yuuri is a puzzle and, somehow, not at all. He’s private and his last social media activity happened two weeks before the GPF. Victor looks at the photos of Yuuri saved on his phone and imagines what he’s like sober.

 

Victor leisurely thrashes everyone. He wins the Russian Championship, the European Championship, and the World Championship to the surprise of no one. The gold feels cold on his exposed skin. It feels colder on his lips when he smiles and kisses it in front of the camera. The press asks him what he wants after, Victor smiles and answers the question without really giving anything away.

 

(Chris sends him a link to a video. Less than a week after, he and Makkachin are on a plane to Japan.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Why are you here?”

 

Yuuri looks completely baffled when Victor, wet and naked (he has planned this), tells him he’ll be his coach. That is not the reaction he’s hoping for.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hasetsu is beautiful and very friendly. Victor greets the fisherman on the way to the Ice Castle a cheery good morning in atrocious Japanese that Yuuri and his parents have been patiently teaching him. Yuko and Takeshi are accommodating, doting in a way only mothers and fathers are. The triplets are mischievous but Victor is self-aware enough to know that he’s an enabler. Axel, Lutz, and Loop are really cute. He studies Japanese with them and is always ready to do anything they ever ask. Their Instagram account, _sukeota3sisters_ , is very popular because of this.

 

Yuuri is different from what Victor has been expecting. He’s modest and shy—he has not mentioned the banquet incident and Victor, ever magnanimous in the face of Yuuri’s endearing awkwardness, does not say anything about it, too.

 

He is a little hurt, though. Yuuri is the one who made the move first. When he complains to Chris about it, the Swiss just sends an eggplant emoji and tongue emoji back. Victor knows Chris is really no help. When Yura interrupts their training and the triplets organize a competition, Victor remembers the dance-off and agrees. 

 

Victor assigns Eros to Yuuri and convinces himself it’s because he wants him to surprise people.

 

Yura gives him a beating, afterwards.

 

“I don’t need to see your thirst performed on ice!” 

 

Victor laughs and Yura turns an ungodly shade of red in anger. 

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Yurio,” he lilts and extends the last syllable. Yurio sounds off in Russian but Victor likes the way the o sounds guttural in his native tongue. Yura does not agree and he steals a slice of his pork cutlet in unconcealed irritation.

 

They eat in silence—or at least, tries to. Yura’s savoring the katsudon, murmuring sweet Russian words in appreciation. Victor’s phone rings and Yura glances at the name illuminated on the screen.

 

“Yakov Feltsman’s pissed?” He is grinning from ear-to-ear.

 

“Yeah. He’s called me a thousand times today, Yurio!” Victor ignores all the calls. He knows Yakov, along with the entirety of Russia, is having a conniption because of Onsen on Ice. The figure skating world is losing their minds at the one-on-one organized by Victor Nikiforov between the Russian Yuri and the Japanese Yuuri.

 

“Just ignore him.” Yura scoffs. “Yasha should be used to that by now.”

 

Victor laughs and laughs until his stomach hurts.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri thinks eros as the katsudon he loves to eat. Victor screams internally as a montage of the Night plays in his mind. The Japanese skater bolts out of the room to go on a run, Makkachin happily going after him.

 

Yura smirks and turns to Victor, looking like the veritable demon from hell.

 

“Eros, huh?” He sounds so smug and the defeated hunch of Victor’s shoulders drops even lower. “Guess your plan backfires.”

 

Victor is a little hurt, if he’s honest. He thinks he and Yuuri are already growing close. Yuuri, who puts the idea of coaching inside his head, must know why Victor’s here. He hasn’t said anything about it, sure, but Victor assumes he’s just embarrassed. Yuuri did pole dance in his underwear with Chris while pouring champagne allover their bodies. Victor doesn’t blame him if he doesn’t want to talk about it.

 

Yet, Victor wonders if Yuuri even wants him here.

 

(Victor misses Yuuri’s warmth.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

Victor voices out his concern to Yuuri, asks him what he really wants Victor to be. He still hasn’t mentioned the Night and Victor wonders if the want and the longing from Yuuri’s eyes are the result of some fever dream. He asks Yuuri if he wants Victor to be his boyfriend.

 

“I want Victor to be Victor!” Yuuri blushes and stutters but he sounds so confident and sure, like this is really what he wants Victor to be.

 

Victor smiles, he doesn’t mind the sound of that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri blooms.

 

He gains confidence on ice. His movements are more fluid, his jumps more solid. Victor loves watching him skate.

 

Yuuri is still Yuuri, though. Yuuri is beautiful and imperfect. Victor looks at him and sees not a caricature of a man but a flawed person. He’s shy and impulsive. He’s kind but he won’t let himself be steamrolled over.

 

Victor loves discovering things about Yuuri—loves Yuuri even if, some days, there isn’t really anything to discover.

 

(Victor finds himself love a lot of things about Yuuri.)

 

The warmth from Yuuri is now everywhere—not just with physical contact. Yuuri is kind and loving and generous. His eyes twinkle when he’s thinking about something. When Yuuri smiles wide, his eyes disappear into little crescents. There is a slight dimple on his left cheek. Victor smiles along every single time. 

 

Yuuri has made him so happy.

 

They still haven’t talked about the Night. Victor has stopped caring about it. Victor assumes Yuuri wants to show him who he really is without the alcohol. He’s smart enough to know Yuuri feels something for him, too. He is elated at this discovery—has texted Chris and Yura and even Yakov.

 

Victor wants to make a move, but he doesn’t want it to interfere with Yuuri’s skating. He’s content enough to watch Yuuri. He’ll take Yuuri in his small parts, take Yuuri in his entirety. He’ll take whatever Yuuri wants to give to him.

 

Victor sometimes thinks of an alternate reality when Yakov didn’t force him to go the party, or when Celestino didn’t force Yuuri. He thinks of St. Petersburg and the cold Russian winter and misses Hasetsu and the family he and Makkachin has made themselves in this tiny town. He thinks of Yuuri not asking him to be his coach, thinks of burning out on ice and losing himself, thinks of being in his lowest when Yuuri comes along—drunk and full of bad decisions, breakdancing and ballroom dancing and pole dancing half-naked.

 

He thinks of how benevolent God is—giving someone like him someone like Yuuri, _giving him Yuuri_. 

 

(Victor does not believe in God but he does believe in Yuuri.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri kisses him first.

 

Victor thinks, _finally_.

 

He feels his lips tingle and his heartbeat speed up. Yuuri’s entire face is red. His soft hands are cradling Victor’s cheeks tenderly, a little tentatively, like he’s afraid Victor is going to leave and run away. As if Victor is even capable of _thinking of leaving._

 

Victor is frozen on the spot, he wants to kiss Yuuri and scream to the whole world.

 

“S-sorry,” Yuuri whispers. His hands drop and he looks like he’s about to cry. Victor doesn’t want him to look like that, ever, so he lifts his right hand and caresses Yuuri’s right cheekbone with his thumb, holds his face like that. Victor realizes how small Yuuri’s face is. 

 

He watches in fascination as Yuuri tilts his head and leans into his touch. Victor kisses him, pours out all the love and longing he’s felt for Yuuri. Victor loves ice skating a million times over. His love for it is all-consuming, burning, like it can destroy Victor completely.

 

(Ice skating has maybe destroyed him, Victor sometimes thinks, remembering all the emptiness and the cold.)

 

His love for Yuuri is not like that. He used to think it is, before Hasetsu, but now, when Yuuri makes a small noise and presses himself into Victor closer and closer and closer, like he, too, has been waiting for this the way Victor has been—Victor knows he loves Yuuri in a way that is entirely different from ice skating.

 

Victor’s love for Yuuri builds him whole.

 

(He doesn’t notice it, at first. His cheeks ache from smiling too long after joking with Yuuri and the extended Katsuki-Nishigori-Okukawa family. He’s delighted when he exchanges pointless messages with Yura and Chris. He turns into a brat every time a single text of his sends Yakov into dreams of early retirement.

 

It’s all these little things, all the relationships and moments he brushed off, the life he neglected and the love he pushed away, slowly unraveling before his eyes that made him realize that the emptiness is not that empty anymore.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

He and Yuuri are warming up on the ice when Yuuri grasps his hand—loose and lazy, like he’s been doing it his whole life—before he pulls Victor and skates backwards. Yuuri’s eyes are bright and teasing, his body language open.

 

Victor laughs and teases back, “Hold me tighter, Yuuri. I don’t want to fall.”

 

Yuuri dutifully tightens his grasp on Victor. “As if,” he scoffs. “I’m not letting you fall down on ice.”

 

Victor lets himself be pulled, occasionally clinging to Yuuri every time he pretends to lose his balance. Yuuri’s bright laughter tinkles all over the Ice Castle.

 

“You won gold at the Grand Prix, the Worlds, and the Olympics, right?”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, my dear,” Victor jokes. 

 

“Multiple times,” Yuuri deadpans and mock-glares but his lips are pulled into a smile. 

 

He stops and leans on the side of the rink and Victor sidles up to him and pulls him into a tight embrace. Yuuri looks up to him, the sunlight casting a gentle glow on his face. He kisses Yuuri on the lips.

 

Victor’s heart feels full.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He’s waited more than 20 years for this—for love and life and Yuuri.

 

 

* * *

 

 

At Beijing, Victor made Yuuri cry. Yuuri’s voice breaks when he shouts and Victor’s heart breaks with it. He wants to apologize but doesn’t know how. He asks Yuuri if he wants a kiss. Yuuri screams at him more.

 

“Just stay close to me!”

 

Yuuri’s face is red and blotchy. His tears are flowing freely and he’s sniffling. Victor doesn’t think of him less beautiful. In fact, he finds him even more so with the way he’s so confident in asking for Victor.

 

“Okay,” he replies, tries to put all of his love into two syllables. “I’m sorry, Yuuri. I’ll never let you go.”

 

He can see Yuuri’s eyes widen and Victor wonders if Yuuri has no idea how much Victor is so gone for him. How much Victor has been gone for him since almost a year ago, when Yuuri stumbles drunk and stupid in his direction.

 

Yuuri forgives him, pats him on the head, before he skates his program. Victor watches him, critical and professional, but he knows Yuuri and he knows Yuuri can do this. He thinks of Yuuri’s battered feet and the splotches of blood on his socks after training and believes.

 

He ends the program with a quadruple flip. The commentators are losing their minds, the arena is drowning with cheers. Victor’s knees are shaking and his heart is pounding. He feels like kneeling in front of Yuuri, feels like Yuuri has him and the world by the tips of his fingers. He does the only thing he can think of—run to Yuuri and surprise him, kiss Yuuri in front of everyone.

 

Yuuri is skating towards him, too. He extends his arms and jumps, kisses Yuuri square on his mouth and cradles his head so it doesn’t hit the ice. It’s not a perfect kiss. He almost misses and Yuuri is sweaty and panting after his free skate program. They hit and tumble down the ice, Victor does not give a damn anymore.

 

“That’s the only thing I can think of to surprise you more than you have surprised me.”

 

Yuuri looks at him with so much love and so much adoration. He’s red in the face the way Victor is. 

 

“Really,” his voice is soft and awed, like Victor is all he wants. “It worked.”

 

Their faces are close enough to observe the emotions flickering on their eyes. Yuuri is so gentle and so giving and so unselfish with himself. Something inside him clicks, like that time when Yuuri first hugged him during the Grand Prix Final banquet. That night feels so small now, in comparison to how far he and Yuuri have come. Yuuri smiles at him, content in his arms. Yuuri is beautiful in a way that only he can. Yuuri is Yuuri.

 

Victor thinks, _I’ll never love someone this way again._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Makkachin is sick and Yuuri tells him to go to back to Japan. He tries to say no, he really does. He knows of Yuuri’s anxiety—understands the way Yuuri has explained it to him. He does not want to leave Yuuri.

 

“I’m going to be fine,” Yuuri smiles. “Go make sure Makkachin is okay for the both of us.”

 

He agrees, eventually. Makkachin has been his dog for a long time. He asks Yakov to be Yuuri’s coach before leaving for Japan with the memory of Yuuri’s hug and his kiss.

 

He arrives at the airport feeling tired and worried, Minako is there to pick him up. Apparently, Mari and Hiroko are both in the vet. Minako does not say anything, just drives them to the animal clinic. Victor smells himself and cringes.

 

Makkachin ends up being okay, the moment he arrives. He holds on and is proclaimed healthy by the doctor. They let him see his poodle but the doctor advises that Makkachin stay for another 24 hours to be monitored.

 

Yuuri’s mother is hysterical, looking tearful and explaining something in Japanese that is too fast for Victor to understand. Mari tries to calm her down, shoots Victor an apologetic look.

 

“Makkachin ate the steam buns on Vicchan’s shrine,” Mari says from the front seat. Beside him, Hiroko sniffles and apologizes again.

 

“Vicchan was Yuuri’s dog, Vicchan,” Hiroko adds, the Japanese clearer now.

 

“Vicchan?”

 

“Yuuri’s dog,” Hiroko repeats in accented English. “He died before the Grand Prix Final.”

 

Victor’s heart stutters in his chest, thinks about how Yuuri has looked last year. No wonder Yuuri wants him with Makkachin. He turns quiet, and the car blurs past through the quiet Hasetsu scenery.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri earns the last Grand Prix Final slot by sheer will power and lucky technicality. Victor is so, so proud of him—as a coach, as a lover. He feels too big for his own skin, can’t stay still and can’t wait for Yuuri to arrive. Mari takes pity on him and tells him to go get Yuuri from the airport.

 

He takes a cab with Makkachin and pays the driver without looking at the amount of money or waiting for change. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s a celebrity or he really looks as pitiful and as wrecked as he thinks but the airport personnel gives him and Makkachin no trouble.

 

He hasn’t had a good night sleep and the food in Yu-topia does not taste the same when he knows Yuuri is in Russia competing without him. His hair is a mess and his eyes have bags underneath. He, frankly, looks horrible. He’s been sitting down on one of the hard chairs for almost an hour when Makkachin runs up to the glass and barks. Victor looks up and sees Yuuri.

 

Yuuri’s eyes widen and, as if drawn by some invisible force, the two of them starts running to each other. Victor’s eyes do not leave Yuuri’s, and Yuuri’s do not leave Victor’s either.

 

(Victor thinks they run a lot towards each other.)

 

Yuuri throws himself at him, Victor inhales Yuuri’s scent and tries to memorize the map of his body against his. They’re only apart for three days but that is already three days too long. Yuuri pushes Victor away and he’s about to protest when he notices Yuuri steeling himself, eyes bright. This is Yuuri when he’s about to say something he’s thought about for so long.

 

“Please take care of me until I retire, Victor.”

 

Victor can feel his gaze soften, heart beating fast. He doesn’t know what to say to convey every emotion he’s feeling, every emotion Yuuri has made him feel so, instead, he takes Yuuri’s hand and kisses the ring finger—

 

“That sounds like a marriage proposal.”

 

Yuuri surges again, hugs him so hard Victor can feel his body shuddering with every breath.

 

“I wish you’d never retire,” he whispers close to Yuuri’s ear.  Yuuri’s hands clutch the back of his coat like a lifeline, an anchor and Victor clutches back.

 

He can feel Yuuri’s breath hitching as he breaks down in tears. Victor hopes he understands what he means. Victor hopes Yuuri is crying because of happiness.

 

(Victor is also tearing up—he’s happy.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

He messages Yakov that night.

 

_I want to marry Yuuri._

 

Yakov has always been one of his closest confidantes. He knows Yakov will understand. He’s seen Yuuri.

 

_It’s only been a year._

 

Victor is about to reply, a link to a website full of gold rings more expensive than some people’s monthly salary, when his phone pings again with a message from his ex-coach.

 

_Yuuri is good for you._

 

Victor smiles, sends another message with the link to the rings.

 

_Yeah, he is ))))_

 

 

* * *

 

 

Barcelona is unexpectedly cold this December. Yuuri is jet-lagged and emulating Sleeping Beauty, Victor lets him rest and decides to soak in the pool. It really is not good to go out in swim trunks when it’s this cold but Victor’s prideful Russian sensibilities won’t allow him to quit.

 

He's been lounging lazily when Chris enters in a thick fluffy bathrobe and a bottle of champagne.  As expected, everything that comes out of his mouth sounds like a come on and a dirty innuendo. Victor is used to him by now. 

 

They have an impromptu photo shoot with Chris posing in increasingly suggestive ways. Victor offers to upload it to his Instagram just because. Some staff comes by and asks if they need anything when Chris waves at them.

 

“Yes,” Christophe Giacometti, the incurable flirt, purrs. The staff, a young man shorter than both of them and with bright green eyes, blushes. If this is Victor Nikiforov pre-coaching days, he would have been flirting, too. It wouldn’t be the first time he and Chris flirts with a pretty young thing. As it is, Victor does not even pay attention. 

 

“If you could take a picture of us?” Chris sends the man his most charming smile. Victor rolls his eyes as Chris asks him to lift his leg straight in the air. He and Chris are both assholes, so they also put their sunglasses on despite the very obvious fact that it’s a winter night. 

 

The man hands Chris back his phone and Chris, ever the opportunist, sends him a wink and gives him his hotel room number.

 

Victor just sighs at Chris. “You’re a flirt.”

 

Chris, with an exaggerated expression, removes his designer sunglasses and gasps, “And you’re not?”

 

Victor grins, “Only for Yuuri.” He raises his sunglasses to his head and wiggles his eyebrows playfully, but both of them know the sincerity behind his words.

 

Chris smiles and sighs, “Yuuri, huh?”

 

Victor watches the stars twinkle and does not look at Chris. The silence stretches and then—

 

“I’m planning on proposing to him.”

 

The shriek Chris lets out is simultaneously surprised and happy. He tackles Victor and they both fall into the cold pool. Victor can feel the other man’s excitement.

 

“Oh, my God, Victor Nikiforov!” Chris gushes. “Oh, my God! I can’t believe—okay, wait. I can believe but—” 

 

Victor laughs when Chris breaks out the unintelligible mix of French and German. Chris punches him on the arm and hugs him tight.

 

“I’m so happy for you,” he says softly, tightening his hug. “Congratulations.”

 

“Thanks, Chris,” Victor replies, pats the curls on Chris’ head. Chris is one of Victor’s closest friends in the figure skating world. 

 

“I can’t believe you’re living a coach-student fantasy, Victor!”

 

It is, however, too optimistic of Victor to hope that Chris does not ruin a special moment by opening his mouth.

 

(Chris sends him a link to a video. This time, it's a compilation of the cheesiest marriage proposals Victor has ever seen.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

Victor likes watching Yuuri. 

 

The Barcelona lights look pretty illuminating the sharp relief of Yuuri’s facial features. Victor watches as his eyes twinkle when he spots something he’s been looking for. He follows him to a jewelry shop and can do nothing as Yuuri buys a gold wedding ring and hands his credit card to the knowing staff. 

 

Yuuri hauls him in front of the Barcelona Cathedral because he’s a sap and a romantic. Victor, who is a sap and a romantic for Yuuri, goes with him.

 

He calls it a lucky charm. Victor lets him because this is how Yuuri is. Yuuri can call it whatever he wants, Victor thinks, he’s seen the printed receipt from the shop. He watches as the other man plays with the ring, rubbing it between his fingers.

 

Yuuri holds his hand like it’s precious, like it’s not big enough to grab the entirety of his tiny face. He pulls Victor’s gloves off, his hand is shaking as he slips the ring on Victor’s finger. Yuuri’s nervous but that’s okay, Victor’s hand is trembling, too. 

 

The moment the ring settles on his finger and the bell clangs overhead, Victor feels something inside him snap into place—like a piece of him has been waiting for this since the beginning of time. Victor wants to kiss Yuuri. 

 

(Victor always wants to kiss Yuuri.)

 

He settles for pulling Yuuri’s hand near him, and, without too much ado, slips another gold band on his ring finger. Yuuri is adorably flushed and Victor is sure that he himself is red in the face, too.

 

“I love you, my Yuuri,” he says.

 

Yuuri kisses him first, again. His lips are cold and chapped. Victor doesn’t really mind. Yuuri’s lips are also soft. The choir continues their song but all Victor can hear is the soft sound of Yuuri replying with an ‘I love you too.’ against his mouth. It feels like a new beginning and a promise at the same time.

 

(Victor has a hard time thinking properly when he’s with Yuuri.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

They end up walking along the bright streets of Barcelona with their bodies pressed together, their arms wrapped around each other. Victor feels Yuuri’s warmth and snuggles deeper in to his hold and sighs contentedly.

 

 _This is the happiest day of my life_ , Victor thinks.

 

(He takes it with a grain of salt, of course. He finds that there is not just one happiest day. All days spent with Yuuri always end up being the happiest.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

They end up having a nice dinner with the other skaters and Mari and Minako. Victor does not really know why he’s still included in the fold of competitors instead of coaches but, well, if he gets more time with Yuuri, he’s not in any position to complain.

 

Yuuri sounds so happy, talking about being with other people when he used to be alone. He mentions last year’s GPF banquet and Victor fondly remembers the Night he had with Yuuri. Is Yuuri also thinking about it? How did he enjoy last—

 

“I didn’t even talk to Victor.”

 

Victor spits out his beer in shock.

 

_What._

 

“You don’t remember?”

 

The past year passes in Victor’s mind. This must be the feeling people talk about when you’re about to die and your life flashes right before your eyes. Victor knows he can be a little overdramatic at times. 

 

He pulls out his phone just as Chris pulls out his. Yura also starts showing his photos and Yuuri is absolutely mortified until Chris’ amused voice breaks through the chaos and embarrassment.

 

“What’s with the matching rings?”

 

Yuuri turns an impossible shade of red and starts stuttering excuses. Victor wants to glare at Chris for the betrayal. Chris knows fully well what the rings are for.

 

Phichit screams, “Congratulations on the marriage!” He’s clapping hysterically and, in a fit of uncontrollable glee, adds for the entire Barcelona to hear, “Everyone, my best friend here just got married!”

 

The customers start clapping loudly and Yuuri is even more mortified as Otabek joins in the celebration. Mari and Minako are shellshocked, and Chris just looks smugly omniscient. Yura, as only Yura can be, seems like he just had a heart attack.

 

“Don’t get us wrong,” Victor corrects. “This is an engagement ring. We’re getting married after Yuuri wins gold.”

 

The rest of the skaters turn serious at the mention of gold and Yuuri stiffens as their attention turns to him. _Oops._  

 

Victor laughs delightedly before they get interrupted.

 

(Victor is only kidding, of course. He’s going to marry Yuuri with or without the gold.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

Chris sends him a message that night.

 

_You proposed? How?!_

 

Victor debates about telling him the truth. But, he figures, Chris is one of his closest friends.

 

_Yuuri proposed first, actually. Then I proposed._

 

_So you proposed to each other? HAHAHAHAHA_

 

_Shut up!!_

 

Victor tosses the phone to the side table, figuring Chris is also resting for the first day of the competition tomorrow. His phone pings again though, and Victor has to stifle a loud laughter at the message displayed on his screen.

 

_Now I’m wondering how Yuuri and I can both win gold._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Before going to sleep, Victor thinks of histories again. He’s not sure if he and Yuuri are one for the history books. Victor wants a happy ending with Yuuri and history books are notorious for writing only tragedies.

 

(The simple truth, for history’s sake, is that Victor loves Yuuri and Yuuri loves Victor. Everything else, they work with or let them fall into place.)

 

He thinks of the unnamed historian who’s going to write the story of Victor Nikiforov—the champion, the legend, the living god. He wonders if the historian would write about his and Yuuri’s story, if they would write about Yuuri’s smile and his dimples and his kisses and his determination, if they would write about the overflowing love Victor feels for him.

 

He wonders if the historian would like the story of Victor Nikiforov—the lover, the beloved.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Victor opens his eyes and the first thing he sees is Yuuri’s sleeping face. He’s drooling slightly and his hair is a mess.   His small face is smushed on the soft hotel pillow in an unflattering manner. 

 

(Victor wants to wake up to this sight everyday.)

 

He stares and watches Yuuri sleep, his attention drifting to the golden bands glinting in the morning Barcelona sun. He feels his face break into a grin and his entire body buzzes in happiness at the sight of the matching gold, at the sight of Yuuri’s love for him, at the sight of his love for Yuuri.

 

He does not want to disturb Yuuri’s rest, knowing he’s tired after yesterday’s practice and sight-seeing. He wants to take a walk and clear his head before the competition. He wants to be his best today.

 

He takes a thorough shower and dresses appropriately for the Barcelona weather. He ends up leisurely walking beside the beach, the seagulls remind him of Hasetsu and all of its warmth.

 

(Before, Sanja and Zhenya showed him a hockey ad. Victor endlessly made fun of them for it. Now, he finally understands the truth to the words. You really can be from two places, at once.)

 

He raises his hand and starts admiring the golden glint of his wedding band. He feels giddy, being able to call it that, _wedding band_. He’s almost twenty-eight, and, yet, Yuuri’s ring can reduce him into a puddle of silly emotions. 

 

(Victor does not care. He wants to be silly with Yuuri forever.)

 

He’s broken out of his reverie with a kick on his back, instantly knows that the only person who dares to greet people like that is his dear Yura, who does not give a damn about the price of Victor’s designer coat.

 

“Victor Nikiforov is dead.”

 

He wants to laugh at Yura. _Dead?_ It’s funny, calling Victor Nikiforov dead, when this is the most alive he’s felt in two decades.

 

“Why do you look so happy to be looking after that damn pig?” 

 

He sees red, feels hot anger course through him. This is a new feeling directed at Yura—Yura, who he sees as a younger brother and, sometimes, an adopted son.

 

“Did you want to compete against me?” He steps into Yura’s space and leans in so they’re eye level, wanting Yura to feel intimidated, wanting him to realize he’s nothing compared to him. How silly. How dare Yura—

 

“Don’t be so full of yourself. Not all skaters look up to you. Just go away already, geezer.”

 

Victor grabs Yura’s face.

 

“The ring you got from that pig is garbage. I’ll win just to prove how incompetent his owner is.”

 

His smile turns cold and sharp, his anger still flaring inside him. He can feel his hand shake in anger, knows Yura must feel it, too.

 

How dare Yura insult the best thing to ever happen to Victor. Yura who does not know winning like Victor does, who is not aware of how it is to be on top of the world. Yura, who does not know how all the gold medals—the Russian and European Championships, the Grand Prix, the Worlds, even the Olympics—pale in comparison to the happiness and love Yuuri has generously given him. Yura has no idea how much Victor loves Yuuri and all of Yuuri—has no idea how much Yuuri loves Victor and all of him too.

 

“Let go of me.” Yura swats his hand. Something flickers in Yura’s eyes and Victor turns and looks away.

 

Victor knows if he stays in Russia, Yura would not be like this. Yura would not have the desire to win, just as he knows that he, too, would not. He knows if he stays in the competition, everyone would only debate on who would win silver and bronze. Victor Nikiforov wins gold, that’s it.

 

“This place reminds me of Hasetsu.” Something in Yura’s voice changes—it’s softer, now, a little fond and nostalgic at the same time. Victor’s anger dissipates just like that—Yura is his younger brother, after all.

 

He smiles fondly, “I thought that, too.” The seagulls take flight and chirp.

 

Victor knows that there are many others beside him who got their “L words” from Yuuri. He wonders if Yura’s words are a test.

 

He stays on the beach long after Yura leaves, thinking of his Yuuri and of Hasetsu. His mind drifts to the Katsuki family, who adopted him and Makkachin without a second thought; to Minako and Yuko and Takeshi, who look knowing and smug every time he and Yuuri are within touching distance of one another; to the triplets, who consistently send him photo updates of their endeavors in to dog-sitting Makkachin and have repeatedly dropped hints of maybe owning a dog.

 

(Victor is weak for Axel, Lutz, and Loop. Yuuri is even more so. The both of them have been weighing the pros and cons of several dog breeds for the Nishigori triplets.)

 

He thinks of Yuuri, and the “L words” he has given and shared with Victor. He thinks of Yuuri and wonders how much a house in Hasetsu is.

 

Would Yuuri like it near the beach and the Ice Castle? He wants something simple and minimalist—white and clean-looking but easy to maintain. He wants a house that’s open and welcoming, something that seamlessly extends outdoors. 

 

He imagines kissing Yuuri while they make breakfast in a modern kitchen, imagines himself in a comfortable couch with Yuuri on top of him. He thinks of having an extra room with traditional _tatami_ floors and a _kotatsu_ for the winter. He thinks of decorating the house with Yuuri and watching Yuuri have an apoplectic attack when he imports designer furnitures from Europe. 

 

He thinks of having their toothbrushes beside each other, thinks of a large bed they’d pick together and the photos he and Yuuri would embarrassingly display. He remembers Yuuri expressing an interest in gardening, and thinks of a nice yard where he can plant his vegetables and flowers and play with Makkachin and, maybe, another dog.

 

Victor fiddles with his ring, tracing the engraved Y with his finger. It’s time to go back to the hotel and kiss his Sleeping Beauty awake. He can feel himself smiling again—he finds himself smiling a lot these past few months, happy and contented and full.

 

 

* * *

 

 

For the first time in a long while, the gold on Victor feels warm.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> bonk me in the head if there are mistakes so i can edit them
> 
> some points:
> 
> \- i love the dubs on The Scene from episode 7
> 
> \- victor calls yurio yura in his head because it's more natural to that when he's thinking in russian
> 
> \- chris and victor's friendship: god level
> 
> \- the skating scene is from a wonderful tumblr post i can't find. i feel like you all know what i'm talking about so if you can link it to me, please
> 
> \- the ad victor thinks about is my absolute favorite hockey ad of all time. it's uploaded on youtube by the nhl channel, called "two places"
> 
> \- as it is, i'm a hockey nerd. for those who follow hockey, sanja and zhenya are you-know-who.... (personal headcanon that victor is a big hockey fan and are actually friends with the national team..... or well, not, after all i'm not god)
> 
> \- find me on tumblr at itshawkeybaby and scream at me for this ridiculous fic
> 
> EDIT: i made some at the vicchan part hahaha.....


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